


Icicles Falling

by OzQueen



Category: Cold Case
Genre: F/M, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, Making Out, Naked Cuddling, Near Death Experiences, Partners to Lovers, Peril, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/pseuds/OzQueen
Summary: Lilly doesn't remember having this push-and-pull debt of lifesaving with Detective Lassing.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zippit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zippit/gifts).



> Full disclosure: I wanted snuggling for warmth and I made a situation to fit :p Tropey goodness!
> 
> Zippit, I was so delighted to get you as my recipient. I hope this is up your alley. I confess I had much of it written before you had a chance to get your letter up, and I hope you can forgive me for being a little self-indulgent with the plot. I completely agree with your paragraph on Scotty and Lilly - such two different people who work so well together, with such delicious, barely-under-the-surface tension simmering away. I tried to play with that as much as I could.

* * *

Maybe it's just night shadows falling across the car, or maybe Lilly blacks out for a second. (She will never be sure of what happened in those few seconds between the impact of Riley's truck crunching the left headlight of their dark sedan, and the dizzying, terrible seconds of spinning upside down across the empty highway.) When the car stills, the god-awful squeal of metal fades off, and her arms are limp and hanging, her blood rushing to her head. 

Scotty mumbles something that trails into her last name, and she reaches out and finds his arm, feeling him move, feeling his strength. ( _Not dead, not dead, thank-God-not-dead_.) 

The headlights of Riley's truck sweep across through the windshield, blinding and close. 

They both jump to action. Lilly tries to brace her weight against the roof of the car, tugging at her seatbelt. Beside her, Scotty falls from his seat against the steering wheel with a grunt. 

"I can't..."

The first bullet bites through the windshield with a quick  _pip_ , and Scotty gasps beside her, his breath loud and ragged in the dark. 

"Rush?" His voice is hoarse. 

"Move!" She snaps at him but she can't get her seatbelt undone. Patches of snow shine under the headlights and Lilly can't tell which way is up or out or what needs to happen. 

Scotty is fighting with her seatbelt. Lilly holds both arms against the roof and pushes, easing her weight away from the straps, and then she falls, landing hard on her shoulder, knees knocking against the dashboard. 

She can hear voices and the slamming of car doors. 

"Get out," Scotty whispers. "Find cover."

She can't find the door handle, it's all upside down. Her wrist throbs with an injury she can't remember. Cold air billows into the car as Scotty's door falls open. Somebody laughs, and then she finds the handle and pushes hard, muscles protesting, blood thumping in her ears. 

The ground is wet and cold and she can see her breath hanging in the air against the lights of Riley's truck. 

"Good evening, Detectives!" Riley calls over the sputter of the engine, and Lilly's stomach lurches as she scrambles behind the car, another bullet biting into the front end of the vehicle; not aimed at her but enough to remind her she's at the disadvantage. 

Scotty's face is pale, but his gun is in his hand and his jaw is set. "You hurt?" he breathes. Sweat shines on his lip, and his breath fogs in the air. 

Lilly shakes her head, but the hand around her gun is aching and her wrist doesn't feel right — she tries to keep it straight and still, no movement. She's not sure how she's gonna shoot. 

"Get your phone out," Scotty whispers urgently. "Call for back up." 

She glances at his gun and he nods —  _G_ _ot you covered._  

She reaches for her phone, gingerly, cringing as it lights up in the dark. 

"Come out come out, wherever you are!" Riley shouts, and he shoots into the air, the whip-crack of the shot echoing through the still night. 

Lilly glances around as she presses the phone to her ear. They've come to a rest at a mild curve on the highway, which is empty and cold as far as she can see in either direction. Dirty snow clumps at the edges, glistening white in the patches beneath the pines  lining the road. 

Another bullet lets loose from Riley's gun, and her chest throbs with the noise. 

"Unless you wanna get shot, you skid your guns out to me, Detectives," Riley drawls. "Nice and easy, or my buddy here, he's gonna come an' get 'em."

The phone hisses and dies against Lilly's ear, the call fading away into dull beeps signaling a failed attempt. She grits her teeth and tries again — connects again, but it's all static and fuzz... 

Riley gives a whoop, and his shoes scuff on the road. Lilly looks at Scotty, can't quite decipher the look he gives her in return, but then his hand is around her wrist — her injured wrist, god damn it, Valens — and he's pulled her after him, three running steps and then there's a rough tumble over the crumbling, crusty snow bordering the road. The ground falls away and she feels him let go, and they're both falling and crashing through dry branches and pine needles, sliding through the snow and the dirt as Riley tries to shoot into the dark after them. 

She comes to a stop before Scotty does. Her ribs are aching, her clothes torn and wet. Her wrist isn't broken, but the pain has intensified, and if Scotty asks again if she's hurt, she's gonna let him have it. 

She scrambles after him, trying to remember the noise of his body crashing through the debris beneath the pines so she can find where he ended up. 

There's a stream at the bottom of the slope, lit by the moon falling through the snow-heavy branches above them. The ice shines wet where Scotty has broken through it. He's slogged his way back to the bank in knee-deep water, cursing and muttering the whole time, drenched to the bone. 

"What, you didn't feel we were in enough trouble?" Lilly whispers, raising an eyebrow he won't see in the shadows. 

He gives a breathless laugh and shakes his head, shivering already. "Got turned around," he says. "Where...?"

But they can already hear Riley coming after them slowly, steadily, his voice mingling with others. Lilly's not entirely sure how many of his cronies he has with him — maybe four could fit in the truck, she's not sure. 

"You get that call through?" Scotty asks, and in the gray light from the moon, Lilly can see his gun in his hand again. 

She claps her pocket. Her phone was in her hand when Scotty tugged her tumbling behind him, and now it's not. Not in her pocket, either. 

"I'm going to kill you," she hisses at him. 

He visibly shudders from the cold, hugging himself, his suit jacket wet and clinging. "Later," he says vaguely, trying to see through the shadowy pines to where Riley is. 

She shakes her head and shoves him. "We gotta get outta here." 

They trip and stumble through the dark beside the stream, the moon slipping in and out of cloud, Scotty's shoes squelching and squishing with every step. 

Someone behind them gives a shout, too close for comfort. If they haven't been seen, their trail has, and it's only going to be a matter of time before Riley catches up to them. 

Without taking the time to discuss the decision, they both duck behind the nearest pine. Scotty's breathing is loud and quivery, and his hands are shaking. Lilly's numb, but mostly dry. She holds her gun in her left hand, her right wrist throbbing too much to hold the weight of it. 

"Let's say your call got through," Scotty says through chattering teeth, his back pressed against the rough bark of the pine tree as he tries to check his gun in the dark, "say it's traced, say we got back up comin'. How long, d'you think?"

"Too long," Lilly whispers, not willing to voice minutes. Too long is all they need to know — they're on their own, even if the best circumstances have indeed weighed in their favor and the call somehow lasted long enough for a trace. 

Scotty coughs and squeezes a fist tight against his chest, every inch of him shaking with the cold. "Don't think I’m gonna shoot straight," he mutters. 

 _Me either,_  Lilly thinks, her gun a dead weight in her left hand. Instead, she says, "You can never shoot straight, Valens." 

He snorts, but then there are footsteps crunching through the pine needles, and hurried breathing. Lilly fires her gun around the edge of the tree, aiming at nothing, and there's a shout and a crash as someone dives for cover. 

Riley's laugh crawls at them through the dark. "Don't be stupid, Detectives," he calls, from somewhere to the left of where Lilly had placed her shot. "You're outnumbered. I know where you are."

Even in the dark, Lilly can catch Scotty's glance, his eyes glittering beneath a heavy frown. "Hit him somewhere painful," he whispers, and Lilly fires blindly again. 

There's a sharp yell. Not Riley, but one of his friends. " _Fuck,_  he hit me!"

Lilly gives Scotty an indignant look. "He?"

She sees Scotty's teeth flash in the dark as he grins. They hunker down, and Scotty spins on the balls of his feet to face back into the pines, where someone is groaning through clenched teeth. 

Riley's voice rings loud and clear. "You've got five seconds to get the fuck away from that tree and drop your weapons," he says. "Or do you want to end up like Middleton?"

Lilly exchanges another loaded look with her partner. It isn't so much a confession as it is a threat, but any lingering doubt Lilly holds in regards to Riley being guilty of murder is now completely eradicated. 

"We gotta get into deeper cover," Scotty whispers. "You fall back and I'll —" 

"No," Lilly says, too afraid to separate. "Together or not at all, Valens." 

He doesn't argue. Either because they have no time, or because he's in agreement.  _Together or not at all._  

Neither of them do things by halves. 

There's an endless stream of cursing and groaning, and the heavy drag of someone limping and shuffling through the carpet of pine needles. "Gonna kill these fuckers." 

Through unspoken agreement, Lilly and Scotty both fire off several shots through the trees, aiming blindly. Scotty grabs her hand — his skin is like ice — and they run as fast as they can through the shadows, hearts pounding. Lilly's breath is sharp and hot in her chest and this is what terror is — weaving through a frozen pine forest with an armed murderer right behind you. 

She feels so starkly visible and so terribly vulnerable. The pines are too sparse, too tall and narrow. The ground is slippery with needles and snow and it's impossible to be silent. They slip and crash and curse and gasp and then, damn it, the stream. 

It's curled around — they've run themselves right into a fishhook bend, ice shining like glass at the edges, the water bubbling along in the middle, rushing over boulders and rocks and tangled pine branches torn from their trees by the weight of winter snow. 

Lilly doesn't look back to see how far away Riley is. She clutches Scotty's hand and they launch themselves into the water. She lets out a cry — it's like knives driving into her skin and it takes her breath away. The water soaks her pantsuit. She slips and falls to her knees, soaking herself to the waist, and Scotty hauls her up again, half-carrying her and trying to keep his footing. 

All she can think about is how exposed they are and how close Riley must be and how he must be lining up his shot and taking his time and she's gonna be hit right in the back, right between the shoulder blades. 

Then it's solid ground underfoot again and they're stumbling through the trees on the other side, trying to stay in the dark, in the shadows, and there's nothing behind them to indicate Riley is following. 

Scotty's breath is hard and harsh and he's shaking from adrenaline and cold. "Maybe we hit him," he gasps. "Maybe we hit him and he can't follow us." 

They keep running, still clutching hands. Lilly's wrist throbs and her gun is a dead weight. Her eyes strain to see something helpful through the darkness — a road, a campsite, any sign of someone who can help them. 

"We're so fucked," Scotty gasps at one point, and she doesn't disagree with him at all. 

Finally, exhausted, they're forced to stop. They're both shaking. Lilly's skin prickles with the cold. For some reason she can hear Vera's voice in her head:  _Shouldn't_ _'_ _a_ _jumped in the river._  

"Shut up," she mutters. 

"Hm?" Scotty's bent over with his hands on his knees. She can see him shaking. His lips are blue.  

"Come on," she says, tugging at him. "We have to keep moving."  

"Lil..." 

"Come  _on_ , Scotty." The only part of her with any semblance of warmth is her palm, which has been pressed against his. She tries to imagine the warmth spreading up her arm and into her chest and down into her legs, all the way to her toes.  

She's too busy thinking about her feet to watch where they're going, and she trips. Scotty makes a grab for her, but he's moving too slow, and she falls to her knees. She glances behind them, wondering again if Riley is there, gun outstretched. 

Scotty helps her up and kicks at the rock she tripped over. It's blackened by charcoal. "Campfire," he says, sounding wistful.  

They stagger on. They seem to have lost Riley, at least temporarily. Lilly wonders if they were lucky enough to hit him when they fired around the trees. Maybe he was cut down by a bullet and they ran through the stream for no good reason. 

Vera's voice is back in her head.  _Shouldn't'a_ _jumped in the river._  

"Glad you came with me instead of Vera," she tells Scotty, talking through chattering teeth. "Don't tell him I said so but I think we'd have been toast by now, if..." She trails off. Scotty has lagged behind.  

"I'm okay," he says softly. He straightens up a little. "It's just... Yeah. I'm okay."  

Panic grips her. "Come on, Scotty," she says. "You have to keep moving."  

He follows her almost reluctantly. She can tell he's in a bad way and if they don't luck upon something soon, it'll be too late.  

"There's gotta be a cabin or a something along here," she says, babbling her hopes into the dark like she can magic a miracle out of thin air. "People fish here, you know, and there's a camp somewhere on the other side of the stream, south a bit I think, where they hold summer camps for kids. Or they used to, I don't know if they still do. Maybe they only use it for Boy Scout stuff now, camp outs and hiking trails. Do boy scouts do hiking trails?" She looks over her shoulder, but he's lagged behind again, looking confused. 

She goes back and grabs his hand, forcing him to follow her at a faster pace. 

"I'm feelin' better now," he says tiredly, and she knows he's starting to think he's warm again, and she wonders if that means it's too late for her to save him out here all alone, even if they do find a — 

"Cabin," she breathes.  

It's not a cabin. It's a little fishing hut perched on the side of the river, made of dark planks and wooden shingles. A tiny window is set in one side and a bolted door in the other.  

When she leans her shoulder against it, the bolt plate peels right off, the screws ancient and stripped of any thread.  

She pulls Scotty inside and scrapes the door closed again, trying not to think about Riley slowly following their footprints in the snow and eventually sending a spray of bullets right through the damp wall planks.  

The ceiling is low, and made lower by a tangled web of fishing nets, foam floaters hanging like Christmas baubles, dried fish scales glittering in the moonlight. The walls are cluttered with rusted folding chairs and old boat oars and fishing rods with line so brittle it breaks when she touches it. 

She rummages frantically for something, anything, to wrap Scotty in. 

Everything smells like gasoline and oil and camphor. She wrenches a wooden chest open and it's full of old plaid blankets. She grabs them out and mothballs drop and skitter across the floor like marbles.  

Scotty's still standing by the door, looking confused.  

"Get undressed," she says brusquely. "Hurry, Scotty." 

She spreads one blanket on the floor and dumps the others nearby. She shrugs out of her jacket, torn and marked with dirt from when she went careening down the hill. It feels like a lifetime ago but it can't have been more than an hour. Has it even been that long? Twenty minutes? Thirty? 

She glances at Scotty, terrified that it's too late to claw him back from this. 

He fumbles with his buttons but his fingers are numb and useless and he can't get any purchase. She stands in front of him and forces herself to focus. Slips his buttons open one by one, her hands shaking. 

They've got no phone and no one knows where they are, but someone will find the wrecked car, and then they'll send the dogs out and... She wishes they hadn't crossed the stream. But they'll be found. Eventually. 

She tries to provide Scotty with some modesty but it's not the time to be embarrassed. She throws his wet clothes aside and pushes him towards the blankets she's dumped on the floor.  

Scotty's voice is barely a whisper, and his movements are slow and heavy. "Gonna cuddle me?" 

"Shut up," she says. And then, "Yes, and thank your lucky stars it was me on this call out with you and not Vera." 

He manages a laugh and she rolls a blanket around his shoulders and eases him gently to the floor before she starts stripping off her own clothes. "Close your eyes," she demands. Survival is all well and good, but... 

"Mmph." He heaves a sigh and closes his eyes. His skin is pale and his lips are still blue and the only thing making Lilly feel slightly all right about things is that he still has one or two jokes left in him, and she's got four bullets left for anyone who might want to come through the door. 

The air in the cabin might as well be edged. She can feel it cutting against her skin, and she nestles down next to Scotty, peeling his blanket open and curling herself right up against his back before she lets the musty plaid fall over them both. She piles every blanket on top of them and snuggles down beside him. "If you tell anyone about this..." She leaves the threat hanging, unable to think of a punishment worse than what they're already going through.  

Scotty mumbles something vaguely argumentative. She can't understand it. She loops her arm over his chest and holds herself close to him.  

Silence settles, and it sets Lilly on edge. 

"Are you warm?" she asks. She thinks he's meant to start shivering again if she's done this right, and she's anxious that he still seems so slow and tired. That he's barely holding onto consciousness. 

"If you die, I'll charge Riley with your murder too," she says suddenly. 

He doesn't laugh, but he says, "Thanks, Lil," like he's pretending to listen to her. Like he does sometimes when he's got the radio on in the car, trying to listen to sports and she's trying to talk to him about a case and he's making vague noises of agreement and hoping she'll shut up.  

"Don't die, though," she adds quickly. "Do you know how much it sucks, getting a new partner? I mean, Lass and I were together for years — Lassing, you know — and then he decided it was too hard, you know, being sick all the time and..." She trails off for a moment, a violent shiver rippling all the way down her body. She huddles closer to Scotty, her breasts pressed against his back.  

"So then I got you and it's taken this long to get you into shape, so just..." She trails off and dips her brow to the back of his neck. "I don't want a new partner, Valens."  

He's quiet, but she feels his fingers tighten around hers, just for a moment. Her skin is prickling all over, like pins and needles jabbing her everywhere. She knows it's because she's warming up again but it's agony and she has to fight the urge to kick and squirm. 

She keeps talking, running her thoughts out into the air like she does with a suspect sometimes, just talking talking talking, trying to hit on something that's going to make them snap and talk back at her, giving her something she wants to hear. It's hard to keep track of time but Scotty's gone from not trembling, to trembling violently, to not trembling again, and she's exhausted and worried and  _what happened to Riley, anyway?_  

"I didn't mean that, before, you know," she says, still talking tiredly, like it'll keep them both anchored. "Getting you into shape. We've had our ups and downs, of course we have, but don't all partners have ups and downs? And most of the time, it's up, I think. Us. We've got a high success rate, Scotty, and Stillman makes sure the ones at the top know it. I mean if you wanted to go to another department, like a promotion, if you wanted to do that there'd be no stopping you, really, because how could they say no when you've got the success rate that we've got behind you?" 

She draws a breath, her heart racing. "I don't want you to go to another department. But if you wanted to... I guess the thing stopping you is that you've pissed a few people off. I mean, I guess you've got a thing with disobeying direct orders from superiors and that might hold you back a bit, but that can be worked on." 

She blinks, her eyelashes catching on his skin. She can feel him quivering, fighting the painful sensation of moving blood, and she curls around him as tightly as she can, her arm still over his ribs, her hand pressed to his chest, fingers wound with his.  

"Scotty?" She waits a moment. "You okay?" 

He draws a shivery breath. "Never heard you talk so much... all my life."  

She grins in relief. "I'll stop."  

Scotty shivers and jitters beside her as the blood rushes back through his body, warming him from head to toe. Their little cocoon of blankets is slightly damp, but snug. Whenever one of them shifts, cold air creeps in and breathes over their bare skin. Lilly tries to anchor the blankets down over their heads and their shoulders, sealing them into a little tent of warmth. Moonlight pours in through the grimy little window, but under the blankets it's soft and dark. 

"Lil?" Scotty's voice is quiet, like maybe he thinks she's asleep. 

"Yeah?" Her voice is muffled against his skin. 

"You okay?"  

"I'm fine." Her wrist is fucking killing her and she's bruised and aching from the fall and the cold, but she's okay. "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah." He rolls over carefully, and she moves back a little to give him room, both of them wincing as a cold breath of air steals in under the blankets again. "Hey," he says, face to face with her again. 

She smiles at him. "Hey. You sure you're okay?" 

"Almost got talked to death, but..." He gives her a reassuring smile. 

"Shut up," she says. 

He grins at her. He looks tired, but himself again — as much as she can tell in the dark, anyway. She shifts a little, bringing her injured wrist in close, cradling it in her other hand. Her gun rests on the blankets between them.  

Scotty's hand closes gently over hers, his thumb pressing gently at the wrist joint. 

She hisses a sharp breath between her teeth. 

"Is it broken?" 

"Just sprained, I think," she says, feeling hopeful.  

"You should put some ice on it," he says, deadpan. 

"Want to go out and get me some?" 

He laughs, and she feels so much better now that he's coming back to himself. "Thanks for savin' my skin, Lil," he says.  

She glances at him in the dark. "I've lost track of whose turn it is to save who," she answers.  

He stops prodding at her wrist and slides down a little so his face is closer to hers. "You've always got my back," he says.  

"Don't get sentimental on me now, Valens," she whispers.  

His fingers fleet gently over her cheek and tuck her damp hair behind her ear. He doesn't say anything else. Just closes his eyes and lets the weight of his arm settle over her, drawing her closer to him. 

It's hard to keep track of time. Lilly thinks she dozes for a little while, but she's not sure. All of her senses are still on alert — she's waiting to hear footsteps outside. She keeps her gun close and listens to Scotty's even breathing. The silence outside is almost oppressing, bearing down on the little hut from all sides, ramping up the tension inside. 

Scotty looks like he's asleep, but his fingers twitch now and then. He's doing the same thing she is — jerking back to awareness whenever he slips too far into comfort. It's an exhausting cycle. 

"I feel like a sitting duck," Lilly whispers, not sure if he's awake or not.  

"Me too." He blinks at her. "But I think we must have hit him, Lil. Or enough of his friends he didn't want to come after us alone." 

"Maybe he's just not stupid enough to wade through an icy river," she suggests.  

He concedes with a fleeting grin. "Maybe."  

She feels guilty suddenly. Wading through the river might have led to this, but if they hadn't done it, they might both be dead. Scratch that — she  _would_  be dead if he hadn't helped her out of the car, if he hadn't pulled her down the slope, if he hadn't led her across the river.  

She doesn't remember this push-and-pull debt of lifesaving with Lassing. He was less impulsive than Scotty. She remembers thinking at the time how well he balanced her — he was good to talk with, he rolled each idea around carefully, considering all the angles. But he was passionate, too, and quick to pull her into line if she was being a smartass. He wasn't a pushover, he wouldn't lie down if she disagreed with him. He was a good partner.  

But Scotty is better. Scotty is almost a constant pain in the ass, and he'll ignore orders, including hers, if he thinks his own idea is better. But his gut instinct is rarely wrong and he's humble with his apologies and he's so utterly,  _fiercely_  loyal and when she's in a tight spot with him she never has a moment of doubt — he's with her to the end.  

Together, or not at all.  

He sits up suddenly, disturbing their nest of blankets and making Lilly jump. The cold air steals around them and pinches her skin. She clutches the blanket to her bare chest. Scotty has her gun in his hand. 

"What?" she asks nervously. She's kicking herself for letting her thoughts wander so much. Is there someone outside? She listens carefully, heart thudding in her breast. 

She hears it then. Soft rustling through the snow. Heavy, measured footsteps. Scotty puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently. 

 _Stay quiet._   

The moonlight is bright. Without the tent of the blanket over her head, Lilly can see every detail of the detritus littering the fishing hut. Cracks between the planks glow white from the reflecting snow. A shadow passes by slowly.  

Scotty thumbs the safety off the gun. His hand is steady.  

 _Where's your gun?_  Lilly wants to ask him.  _Did you drop it? Did you lose it in the river? Why do we only have one gun?_  

She tries to lie flat, because if bullets start punching through the cabin walls she wants to present less of a target. 

Scotty keeps the gun aimed at the shadow. The footsteps are slightly uneven, and Lilly wonders if it's because whoever it is has stumbled through the river. She watches with wide eyes, fingers knotted tightly in the old plaid blanket.  

The shadow heads for the window. She can hear heavy tread on the damp earth. They're not trying to be quiet. Her heart lifts for a moment. Maybe it's rescue. Maybe their car has been found and someone has picked up their trail and —

The shadow breaks through the moonlight falling across the window. Spidery antlers glow eerily, and a warm breath huffs against the glass. 

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Scotty breathes, collapsing down beside Lilly again. He thumbs the safety back on as Lilly erupts into breathless laughter. 

"It's a fuckin' deer," Scotty adds, and he starts laughing too, and they're both delirious with relief.  

He places the gun above their heads, within easy reach. Lilly can feel adrenaline humming in her veins and she tries to calm herself down again. The deer pads on through the night, passing by the hut and leaving it behind. 

Scotty huddles back beneath the blanket. His hands are cold and Lilly winces when he burrows up against her again. 

"Your hands are cold," she tells him, but it's hard to sound annoyed when her voice is still half laughter.

"I know." He brushes his fingers against the small of her back as if to demonstrate, and she yelps. 

"You sure you want to start somethin' you can't finish?" she threatens. "A half hour ago you were full of gratitude." 

"Still full of gratitude," he reassures her quietly. His fingers curl away from her skin, ceasing their icy tickling. "Can't imagine everyone would be willing to strip down next to their partner to keep them warm," he adds after a moment.  

"I guess not," Lilly says hesitantly. She's not sure. No, of  _course_  she would be doing this if she were with one of the others. She'd lay her life down for any of them, and do anything to save them. But at the same time... there would have been a little more hesitation, a little more Motivating Talk about necessity and hypothermia and survival. 

"I feel like I need to point out that I was  _really_  cold," he says suddenly. "Life or death cold, the coldest I could get, so if you took a peek and you were wondering —" 

"Jesus, Scotty," she interrupts.  

He grins at her. "Just sayin'. It's all there if you wanted to —" 

"No, thank you," she says. She feels a little hot in the face. She hadn't chanced a peek, at all. Not really. And if she had she hadn't noticed anything anyway, not enough for it to burn into her brain. She had been too panicked; too convinced Scotty was about to die.  

She closes her eyes, but through her lashes she takes a look at his bare chest, as though unable to resist now that he's invited her to inspect him. He's got dark, coarse chest hair, and his muscles are toned and firm in a way that makes her heart beat a little faster. 

Flustered, she tries to focus on something else — and it's Saccardo that comes to mind, his body bigger and heavier than Scotty's, less toned but somehow stronger anyway. She remembers his arms around her, and then it all blends with Scotty's arm resting over her waist, and the delicate touch of his fingers over her skin, and her efforts at distracting herself have failed utterly, mingling instead with a confusing pull of sudden attraction. 

She's not sure if she imagines the slight pressure of Scotty's hand on her back, guiding her closer to him, but he doesn't protest or encourage the way she leans into him either way. She tucks her brow into the crook of his neck and closes her eyes, quietly inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne. 

Scotty's breath is warm against the top of her head. She's not sure, but he thinks maybe he kisses her there, or at least rests his mouth against her. It's intimate and gentle and she finds herself wondering how it can bring so much comfort when instead it should be crossing a line. 

She's always been so careful. She keeps people at arm's length because she's seen what happens otherwise — you get too comfortable with someone, you get too friendly, and then everyone starts talking about how Lilly Rush got to be a Detective in Lieutenant Stillman's squad because she fucked her way up the ladder.  

She gets a reputation as an Ice Queen, but she thinks that's better than having a reputation for fucking for promotions. So she keeps her distance.  

Scotty, meanwhile, is the opposite — he fucks everyone he's not supposed to.  

His fingers graze over the back of her neck, his thumb caresses small circles into her skin. She tilts her head forward as his hand slides higher to cup the back of her head. He pulls the pins gently from her damp hair and his touch roams through the rough aftermath of her hairspray. When he pushes her hair against the natural fall and direction of the twists she'd pinned into it that morning, a warmth rush of blood floods close to the surface of her scalp, making her shiver. She stifles a soft moan of enjoyment, but it's already too late — whatever they have started is well on its way, and they're both caught in it. It happens as swiftly and as silently as an icicle falling in the dark.

She tilts her head up and he tilts his down, and his lips brush gently against hers. He doesn't pull away, and nor does she. When she feels his tongue against her bottom lip she opens her mouth and leans into his kiss. Adrenaline courses through her again, dizzying and intoxicating. His hands cup her face, fingers seeking the sensitive dips behind her ears, thumbs following the curve of her cheek.  

She can feel her temperature rising. Even so, she finds herself seeking more — she slides her arms around Scotty, craving his body heat, the hair on his chest scratching gently against her bare breasts. She slides her fingers through his hair and squirms closer to him, her lips catching his as he withdraws to draw breath, her nails grazing against his scalp in desperation.  

Her injured wrist throbs in time with her heart, but she pays it no notice — she slides one leg over Scotty's hip and he rolls over her, hands skating down her sides, his palms warm and soft on her skin. He cups her breasts and lowers his head to mouth open kisses over them, the cold air chasing each trail of warmth he leaves behind.  

 _We shouldn't._  She should say it aloud. She should say,  _We should stop_ , she should say,  _We'll regret it_ , but she can't bring herself to say any of it. It all feels too good, and too right, like the earth has always been slightly uneven beneath her feet and it's only just now straightened out. Everything has realigned itself with the bare touch of Scotty's skin against hers.  

He tastes the soft undersides of her breasts with his tongue; he sucks red marks into her skin; his fingers dance and skate over her in a mindless pattern. His palm slides up the inside of her thigh and she parts her legs and drags him back to kiss her, sighing a soft noise of contentment against his mouth as he finds her clit and starts stroking her with his fingers.  

She can feel him growing hard against her hip and she grins suddenly. 

"What?" he asks, grinning too. His dark eyes shine at her. 

"It's all there," she quotes back at him, nudging him a little with her hip. 

He glances down, the blankets rumpled and still covering them from the waist down. "Almost," he confirms, and he grins and kisses her again, rocking up against her with purpose so she can feel him, his hand still working between her thighs, fingers stroking and rubbing with delicious pressure.  

She gasps soft encouragement without thinking. When he rocks against her again, seeking friction, she reaches down with her left hand and wraps her fingers around him, dragging a gentle stroke along the length of his cock. It feels clumsy and awkward but her right hand hurts too much, and anyway — the noise he makes indicates he doesn't have any complaint.  

He starts kissing and biting gently at her neck and her shoulder, and she squirms breathlessly beneath him, rolling her hips against the steady pressure of his stroking fingers, trying to keep a steady rhythm on him with her left hand. He rolls between her legs and grabs her hips to position her beneath him, sliding her along the rough wool of the blanket, their breath heavy and damp in the cold air.  

He takes his time easing inside her, reaching between them to stroke her clit again, stopping to kiss and suck at her breasts. He rocks back and forth with short strokes, a little deeper each time until she grows impatient and wraps her legs around him, stopping him from pulling back again, a silent demand for him to fuck her properly. 

He kisses her again and grins against her mouth, looking triumphant like he's won a contest she wasn't aware they were playing. He starts slowly, dragging it out, rolling his hips in a way that makes her breathing ragged and her body arch beneath him. 

There's an edge of pain under everything — the cold still bites at her exposed skin, her wrist throbs angrily, the floor is hard beneath her – but she can't get enough of the  _good._ Scotty knows just where to touch her and just how much weight to put on her and just how to move.  

He talks — whispering warm, rambling sentences like she had when she was in a delirious panic, only this time it's soft and reassuring and loving. She closes her eyes and focuses on him, wrapping her arms around him tightly and holding him close, drawing physical pleasure from the way he breathes her name into her ear.  

He eases one hand between them and starts stroking her clit again, letting her roll and grind up against him to get the right pressure in the right places, and she shivers and kisses him, whispering for him to keep going, don't stop. When she comes, she's silent and breathless, her body trembling through the intensity. 

Scotty, by contrast, gets louder, gripping her with both hands and fucking her faster, gasping her name against her neck and groaning loudly through his own climax with one long breath. He slowly eases his weight onto her, breathing hard.  

She keeps her arms around him, enjoying the feel of his weight upon her. Everything seems to have faded away except this; the world is confined to their pile of blankets. When he kisses her again it's with a languid sort of laziness, taking his time to taste her and touch her.  

They separate slowly. Scotty spoons behind her. "We coulda done that years ago," he mumbles tiredly. 

Lilly bites back a laugh. "Think it took a life-or-death situation to push us into it," she says. 

"Like we haven't had enough of those already." He ducks his head against the back of her neck, cuddling closer.  

She listens to him fall asleep, his breath evening out against her shoulder. She no longer has the panic of being found by Riley. Somehow she's reassured that he never followed them to the stream, let alone across it. And she's sure that rescue will come eventually.  

 _What happens after that?_  she thinks anxiously. 

She's heard of partners who have crossed the line. She's never heard of it ending well. It always becomes too messy, too hard. It turns into a mess of blurred lines.  

She can't lose Scotty. She had meant every word earlier. He's the best partner she's ever had — that she will ever have. And she's never considered crossing the line with him, but now that she has... She can't imagine turning to him and demanding that it all go back the way it was, because... it just won't. It won't be like it was.  

She tries to justify it to herself, but she can't. Because she can't say she's in love with him. She's never thought about loving him. She's never wondered if she does, and now that she  _is_ wondering, she can't convince herself that it sounds right in her head. 

 _I love Scotty Valens._  

It sounds like a sentence scrawled on the inside cover of a high school notebook. A doodle made in a moment of distraction.  

But there's a burning loyalty she can't deny; a fierce, overwhelming sense of ownership. Was this why she's never approved of any of the women he'd been interested in? Not because they were always inappropriate partners — and damn it, Scotty, they  _were —_ but because subconsciously, she was jealous? 

She dismisses the thought. The warm afterglow has been swept away beneath a bitter current of irritation. She hates herself for having to pick everything to pieces. Christina always said Lilly ruined things for herself — _Why can't you just have some fun, Lil?_  

"What are you doin'?" Scotty asks. 

Lilly jumps a mile, having thought he was asleep. "Huh?" she asks stupidly. 

"Just relax," he murmurs. He smooths a hand gently over her hip, over her waist, and she breathes out, finally realizing she's been holding herself tense and rigid.  

"Aren't you worried?" she asks. She feels more afraid of this than she did when Riley was chasing them. The potential loss seems almost greater.  

"Nope," Scotty says. He finds her hand and twines his fingers with hers. "Lil, you are everything to me."  

That's it, she realizes. That's the difference for them. Love is normal and conventional and it doesn't suit what they have. But he is everything to her, too, and maybe that's all they need to make this work. Not love. But everything.  

She breathes out, and Scotty squeezes her hand.  

"Stop worrying," he says. "There's time for that later." 

"Oh yeah?" She grins, feeling better about things already. 

"Yeah." He pauses. "Like, how are we gonna explain this to Stillman?" 

"You're going to be wrapped in your own blanket before he gets here, for a start," Lilly says, turning her head to bite her words at him over her shoulder. "And if you tell anyone about  _this_ , I might accidentally let it slip that I  _did_  take a peek when you were getting undressed, and things were kinda underwhelming, Valens, so —" 

He growls and rolls on top of her, and she gives a shriek and starts laughing, squirming to escape his tickling fingers. 

"I'll show you," he says, mouth against her neck again, tongue fleeting against her skin to taste her. "There's gonna be nothing underwhelming about any of this, Lil."  

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tonight  
> It might look pretty bad  
> We might lose everything  
> We thought that we had  
> But shadows will pass  
> Smoke, it will clear  
> If something survives of us around here
> 
> \-- Icicles, by Patty Griffin, from which I pinched the title and took some inspiration.


End file.
